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Wordhome's Blog | word-transit. | Page 2

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July 7, 2010 at 6:36 am ( journal. The journal is useless and i’ve largely stopped submitting poems abroad. July 4, 2010 at 3:52 am ( draft. There are commonalities between us,. I say ‘you know when…’. And you nod- we connect. It is this that reassures my. But nothing can reassure me. Not here, not when i stop. Acting intrinsically, when. My parachute is up and i’m. A complete lack of faith. In action, reaction, anything passing. Through tangentially- and its all tangential. My pen unmasks me. There&#821...

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shell | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2010/09/26/shell

September 26, 2010 at 4:16 pm ( poetry. As a representative of myself;. In a segmented and beery crowd. Like any delegate will understand,. The intervals are painful to bear. But the action is an honour to witness. Wrapped up in skin, clothes and sweat. I am invisible;. Though i sense the uplift, the beat,. The highs and lows leading to bridges. And finishes on major chords. On my own shoulders. I have the best view in the room. Of the sun-setting prop,. And the bottles of alcohol,. Half drunk on the amps.

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attraction/repulsion | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/02/17/attractionrepulsion

February 17, 2011 at 7:55 pm ( poetry. This alleyway is obscured. In the fog of vaporised pulp fiction. A microcosm of children. And drinking imported liquor. In a glass ball,. Which could be bought in a tourist shop. At any moment it’s not absurd. To expect to see. A camera on a trolley rolling past,. Effortlessly capturing the haughty looks. Of the communal solipsists. The idea that this place. Is not a movie set, or an asylum,. Or an organised mimic of ‘alice in wonderland’. Leave a Reply Cancel reply.

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meta-sketch | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2010/08/22/meta-sketch

August 22, 2010 at 11:37 pm ( poetry. So i come over to your table. at first you don’t notice. i’m subtle. when you do you ignore me with mesmerizing profundity. i sit opposite you, reach across the table and with my purple hands, gently open your clenched jaw, feeling the wet underside of your lips. my hand, like a bomb, rests on your tongue and you’re really crying now. I withdraw, pay for my coffee and leave. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Address never made public).

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the lunatic’s memory | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/01/30/216

The lunatic’s memory. January 30, 2011 at 6:59 pm ( poetry. Curled up inside a coil of light,. He steers the spiral with hallucinations. Along a barely glimpsed trajectory. That’s how these evenings happen,. Eyed through a multifocal castle,. As he curses and laughs,. Pacing behind stained glass windows,. The syncopater on the mantlepiece. The memories he has. He gathers on a table,. To watch them seep blood. Into shapes of tears. He gathers the tears into his lap. And wonders why he brought them out.

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slip | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/04/07/slip

April 7, 2011 at 4:05 am ( poetry. Or showering after swallowing. With the consistency of smoke,. Then ending up in the rain. Rubbing up against a concrete pillow,. A glass bottle blanket. And then getting colder. And the wetness getting louder,. The grey getting softer. Through glazed, heavy lids. Then falling, or rising. Without being lifted,. On fire in certain parts. Like the nape of the neck. Laughing like acting,. Carrying into the ceiling. Beyond even the theatre-screen,. April 9, 2011 at 10:20 pm.

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dreamt it was raining | Wordhome's Blog

https://wordhome.wordpress.com/2011/01/15/dreamt-it-was-raining

Dreamt it was raining. January 15, 2011 at 2:32 am ( poetry. Hands over his eyes. Palms upon his cheekbones,. Slips away, left hanging. Infront of him, hands cupped. Eyes stay open as rain. Falls in, rolls down. His neck, riding those nerves. Most conscious of the cold. Time is halved. every thought. Seems so well thought through. A hand, a wet hand, white. And blue from cold on his shoulder. Drops his cupped hands,. Turns around and falls into. An embrace in the rain,. He stood still for so long,. Notif...

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Not so Epic Fail | Vaguely Quotable

https://vaguelyquotable.wordpress.com/2011/10/13/not-so-epic-fail

A Blog of Short Stories Updated Every Friday. Not so Epic Fail. What’s the opposite of an epic? But calling this post ‘Epigrammatic Fail’ would give the wrong impression. And ‘Flash Fail’ doesn’t work for me. Anyway, I have a piece of flash fiction. At Fail Better, one of my favourite literary websites. I hope it compensates for my lack of output in the last few months. Flash Fiction. Fail Better. October 13, 2011. Laquo; On Fight Bridge. Do you want to comment? Hits from other places. Louis Armand Home ...

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On Fight Bridge | Vaguely Quotable

https://vaguelyquotable.wordpress.com/2011/08/04/on-fight-bridge

A Blog of Short Stories Updated Every Friday. I heard a ghost last night, Lee said at breakfast, taking a piece of wholemeal toast, which his mum had just buttered with vegan margarine. What did it say? Their mother asked, while he smeared jam on top. It was just the regular stuff. His mum couldn’t afford the organic stuff. She promised to get it again when she returned to full-time work. Lee hoped the day wouldn’t come. He loved the jam but he never told her. You should’ve come earlier, she said. I thin...